Because This isn't Goodbye
by darkangel447
Summary: The war is over; the Reapers have been destroyed. But what will the crew of the Normandy SR2 do with their new found freedom? Do they mourn the loss of their Commander? And who wants to ensure he is kept alive?
1. Prologue The Beginning in the End

**Because this isn't Goodbye**

Hello all - again sorry about the delay with my other story, but everything I had written doesn't fit into the whole Mass Effect 3 ending. So that has been sidelined for a few months while I churn this out.

With this, I wanted to focus on the whole post-war problems. So there will be spoilers for the ending of Mass Effect 3, but not for the storyline itself (There may be a few spoilers for Miranda's character, but thats cause she will be in the story). I want to focus on the ordinaryness of life after the war, things will continue and now that Shepard hasn't got anyone to fight, what will he do with himself?

As I said before, this will be a MirandaxShep(M) fic, but thats cause I am literally in love with that woman, and at times really wish Mass Effect was real and that I was called John Shepard. But enough about my love for Yvonne's alter ego, on with the story :)

Prologue - The Beginning in the End

The war had been over for three days.

Enough time for the smell of death to seep into clothes and skin, deep enough that it might never come off. The inhabitants of Earth soon became concerned with a wider range of problems; when there were more dead than living, how did they cope with the backlog? Fresh water became scarce, and diseases such as Cholera and Typhoid returned.

They were talking about mass-destruction; the idea that by starting again, burning the Earth clean, they could contain the infections. They couldn't explain how they were going to house, feed or hydrate everyone while they did that.

For three days, the skies were filled with debris from the destroyed; Reapers and Alliance ships all falling to the Earth, the same in death. That was true as well for Earth itself; piles of bodies, whether human or not, lay side by side, indistinguishable from the blackened rubble surrounding them.

There were amazing sunsets in the beginning.

By the end of the fourth day, desperation set in. Nobody could get word to anyone outside the local cluster, and all deep space transmission had gone dark. Things still worked; we could take off, land, travel to Mars, communicate with other species, but it was as if space beyond no longer existed. The Mass Relay had been destroyed; no one knew how.

A further twenty-four hours went past, and a temporary government was set up in the old Justice Building in Old New York. By the end of the week refugee camps were set up but medical professionals and supplies were stretched to breaking point.

Despite this there was hope; a whisper had reached Earth of Shepard. No one had heard of the legendary Spectre since the destruction of the Citadel, and the Normandy SR2 had been reported missing in action. But humanity had survived, and, although they didn't know it yet, Shepard had as well.

The war had been over eight days, and Shepard was still alive.


	2. Chapter One The War Hero in the Hospital

Chapter One - The War Hero in the Hospital

"Thats a code red everyone."

There was a loud bang followed by the squeak of some in-need wheels as the gurney was pushed into the emergency medical centre. A man with a clipboard and a pair of green latex gloves was striding ahead of the body. His black boots gripped the floor as they propelled him forwards, his voice ringing down the corridor.

"We found him. Trapped under the rubble on London. One-hundred-and eighty-five pounds, middle-aged man, second degree burns, thirty-five percent of his body. Respiration's heavy. Compound fracture to both legs and right arm, distal radius. Also, flaccid tetraparesis, possible damage to C5-C6, or maybe it's the brain. Deprived of oxygen, and now on eighty percent."

Two doctors, one male and one female moved swiftly to their positions on either side of the new arrival.

"Commander Shepard. Commander Shepard, can you hear my voice? Okay, he's not responding. I need an eighteen gauge, left a.c right away."

"B.P is one-eighty-one over ninety-three. We have hypertensive crisis. Respiration is at seventeen, heart-rate one-sixty-seven. I need thirty milligrams of Captopril and Perindopril, and twenty milligrams of Sodium Nitroprusside i.v."

"I need De-fib standing by."

"De-fib is standing by."

"Rush through to emergency surgery - call burns unit - and 6mls of diamorphine, keep more standing by. I want neurosurgery down here stat."

The male doctor was shining a light into Shepard's eyes.

"Good pupillary response. He's still with us."

The voices became softer as they wheeled the body down to surgery. The man with the clipboard and black boots dropped his clipboard and bent double, bracing his right latex gloved hand against the hospital wall. He took a shuddering breath, as the adrenalin wore off and his limbs began to shake.

He was alone in the corridor now. That would have been unusual before, when people were streaming into the hospital, but now, with two-thirds of the Earth's population death, and most of the rest in refugee camps, the emergency ward was less used.

The Saint Raphael Memorial Hospital and Senior Medical Centre for Constructive Surgery was one of the few that survived the invasion. A private hospital on the outskirts of St. Johnsbury, Vermont, it dealt exclusively with plastic and corrective surgery, mainly for the well-to-do upper crust of New New York and Montreal. It had been commandeered by the Alliance about six months into the war, after New York was target heavily, and husks ripped apart the major hospitals. Hidden by trees, just off Route 93, the Memorial Hospital was a state-of-the-art facility, paid for by a private community of doctors who own and ran the centre. With both Asari and human surgeons, the hospital was at the fore front of medical innovation. But despite the many Senators wives and politicians that used the discreet service, their combined political weight wasn't enough to keep the Alliance from using the facility as an emergency military hospital.

"First time?" A kind, female voice asked.

The man with the black boots looked up, still bent at the waist. Before him stood an Asari of a startling deep blue, her eyes reflecting the green of the hospital walls.

When he didn't reply, the Asari repeated her question.

"First time? On deep space recovery?'

The man straightened, still bracing himself on the wall, before replying.

"Naw." His thick marine accent attested to years of combat service "I've seen 'em worse than that." The Asari looked quizzically at the marine, and seeing her confusion, he continued, "Medical Officer Nathan Collier." The i's were turned into e's as the words rolled of his tongue, "With the Thirty-Second Alliance Fusiliers, Second Battalion. Seen service on Eden Prime, Palven and in the Krogan DMZ."

The Asari raised her eyebrows, or rather she raised the part of her forehead where eyebrows would be located, and rested her head to one side as she studied the Medical Officer.

"I am Nerala, one of the senior medical staff that stayed on after the Alliance commandeered this facility." Nathan Collier simply nodded at her.

The following silence was an awkward one at best; a beeping from another ward the only indication of others in the building.

"Forgive me," continued Nerala after a sizeable pause, "But if you are a hardened medical professional, then why were you so affected by the sight of that patient?"

Medical Officer Nathan Collier's mouth dropped open in a comical imitation of surprise.

"I'm surprised you don't already know." He rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand, physically displaying the anxiety he evidently felt. "If you don't know, miss, I don't know that it's my place to tell you." He sighed, "That patient? The one that brought both Dr. Josephs and Dr. Freeth 'ere? That was Commander Shepard. The Commander Shepard." His face became more animated as he continued. "We found 'im. After a week of searchin' the wreckage of the Citadel, we found 'im. Everyone thought he was dead, he should hav' been dead. But I guess whatever Cerberus did to 'im saved 'is life. Maybe they a'int so bad after all, eh?"

But Nerala had stopped listening. Shepard was alive; in bad shape by all accounts, but he was still alive.

Hope flared.

Three Weeks Later

Shepard twitched. It was the first un-stimulated movement he had made and the ensuing violence of beeping, squeaks and automated voices attested to how important this single finger movement was. A frown began to crease the bruised face, and as if he was waking from a deep sleep, Shepard blinked.

He brought his right hand up to cover his face as he shut his eyes against the glare from the florescent lights. As his eye's adjusted to the brightness, he noticed the i.v drip trailing from his hand to a translucent pouch, hanging by the side of his bed. He tried to sit up, but found he didn't have the strength. A sense of deja vu swept over him and he looked around his room; this time, there was no un-named brunette gently holding his hand telling him it was going to alright, no doctor shocked by the results.

"Welcome back, Commander." Shepard rolled his head over to the left, the cold pillow offering comfort to his face. He reached his left hand up to try and feel the damage, but before he had moved very far a firm hand grasped his wrist and said "You don't want to do that. The stitches are still fairly fresh."

Shepard replaced his hand back beside him on the bed and blinked again, the doctor swimming in and out of focus.

"It is perfectly normal for you eye sight to be a little blurred, but just to check your progress, I'll need to run a few tests." The man stood and pulled a pen-torch from his chest pocket, and holding Shepard gaze he turned the torch on and off, and then drew an 'H' in midair. As the tests were completed, Shepard began to make out things more clearly. He could see he was in a bed, dressed in standard hospital gear and attached to a heart monitor and a drip. The ceiling was unadorned, except for two rows of fluorescent lights and an extractor fan in the corner.

"My name is Mr. Jonathan Freeth, and I am one of the surgeons who operated on you when you were brought to us from London." Shepard blinked and coughed. "Before you start, because I know you will have a lot of questions, you should drink something."

A hand was placed behind Shepard's head, while a cool glass was pressed against his bottom lip. After a few sips, the glass was removed for a few seconds, before being replaced back against his lips. This cycle continued for about five minuets until Shepard had finished the entire glass. Hearing the 'clinck' as the glass was placed on the side, Shepard struggled to sit up before the bed began to tilt, allowing him to remain supported through the movement.

As Shepard reached a comfortable sitting position, the rest of the room and his doctor came into view. Mr. Jonathan Freeth was in a pressed light-grey suit that was immaculately clean. His face was long, with clear, intelligent eyes and a perfectly straight nose. His perfectly cut hair was smoothed into place with the liberal use of some product or other and his i.d card was clipped to his chest pocket where a black pen, a red pen and the torch-pen also rested.

Shepard could also see the rest of the room. To his left, was a bedside table, where a bible, a datapad and an empty glass sat. The door that lead out into the corridor was in the opposite corner. Mr. Freeth sat in an unremarkable chair directly to his right.

The doctor smiled at Shepard as he surveyed his surroundings. Focusing his attention away from the room, Shepard took the time to observe himself. His right leg was elevated and in a clean, white cast; his left had a new scar running centrally down his shin, from knee to ankle. His left arm was wrapped in a clear plastic, which extended across his chest, down his left side and around his back to his spine. Under the dressing, Shepard could see his skin knitting back together, repairing the burns he had sustained. The left side of his face felt swollen and bruised and jaw hurt.

"Physically, you're doing very well." Freeth stated, interrupting Shepard's musing. "There was a lot of damage we didn't think we'd be able to repair when you arrived. But your, er, re-birth, shall we call it? Gave you a few tricks up your sleeve."

"Where am I?" Shepard asked, his voice horse from lack of use, "How long have I been out? What happened to me?"

Mr. Freeth smiled and nodded.

"Yes, I expect you've a lot of questions. I shall do my best to answer them. Firstly, you are here, in room 2B of Alliance Medical Centre 2417-9, more commonly known as The Saint Raphael Memorial Hospital and Senior Medical Centre for Constructive Surgery. Just of Route 93. I can get you the grid reference if you want a more specific location. You have been unconscious for just over a month, three weeks of that you have spent here. As for what happened to you? We're not entirely sure. You were the only person on the Citadel who survived; if anyone was there with you, we haven't been able to recover them."

_A flash of red ... A small boy dressed in blue light ... Make your choice ... What will you do?_

Shepard shook his head. The image had been fragmented. He knew what he done, but he seemed separate from it some how. Distanced.

"What I can tell you," Freeth had started talking again, "is what we did to you, if you would like to know?"

"Will that help?"

"It helps some patients, understanding what we had to do in order to restore them. For others, they don't wish to know the gory details, and are simply content with being okay."

Shepard nodded, and motioned for the doctor to continue.

"Very well. I focused on your external injuries, such as your burns and face, as well as you legs. My colleague, Dr. Rachel Josephs will be able to fill you in on what she did internally when she arrives. Firstly, you broke both of your legs, as well as your right arm. Your arm and left leg were relatively simple fractures that were easily healed with cybernetics, both some new ones and those installed by Cerberus. I must say, as one professional commenting on the work of another, those implants probably saved your life. Your right leg was more complicated; a bone fragment had come loose and was drifting dangerously close to your femoral artery, as well as having a shattered shin bone. The burns on your arm are healing nicely, and your jaw has been reset. We also had to do some corrective surgery around your left eye, especially as your cheek was split from your mouth almost to your ear. You will make a full recovery, but you will ned some serious physical therapy to regain your previous physique."

At that moment the door opened and a woman, whom Shepard could only assume was Rachel Josephs walked in. She was tall and striking; her autumn red hair was pulled back into a messy bun, and her eyes were focused on a file behind her obviously expensive glasses. Shepard was amazed that these people, who had so obviously spent time repairing and rebuilding him, could act as if he was sitting in any other hospital, on any other world. But no, he reminded himself, this was not an ordinary hospital, because they didn't exist anymore. The world outside these walls was a very different one to the one from even a month ago. The world had gone and changed on him again; and once again, he had been absent from it.

Their clean clothes, their expensive glasses; these doctors had never seen combat, never been in a war zone.

"Commander Shepard." Dr Josephs smooth voice cut through his thoughts. "I take it Jonathan has filled you in on everything."

"Everything except internal, Rachel. I thought you would want to explain that too him."

A slight frown creased Dr. Josephs face, but she didn't look up from her reading.

"I see." There was a lengthy pause, before she tucked the file under her arm and looked directly at Shepard. "What is it you would like to know, Commander?"

Shepard shook his head. "Nothing really. Except when I'll be able to leave."

"I'm afraid that won't be for some time, Commander" Dr. Josephs replied.

"We will try and have you up and about fairly soon, but it will be a few months before you'll be fit enough for travel. Your leg alone will take at least another week before we can remove the cast, and then it will be a few weeks before you'll feel comfortable walking on it again."

Shepard nodded, before replying "In that case, when can I fire my gun?"

Four Months Later -

John Shepard sat in his room, pulling on an elastic cord attached to the wall. His physiotherapy was going well, and Dr Josephs expected him to be ready for travel in the next few days.

After the first week, they had managed to establish a routine which gave Shepard the most amount of freedom that the rigid confinement to his bed allowed. Once the cast was removed from his leg, Shepard began to explore the facility. He was alone aside from a team of doctors and a few short-term patients.

On learning that most of his crew had survived, Shepard had tried to get a message out that he too was alive, but all long term communications were down. They had only just repaired some of the Mass Effect Relay's allowing for inter-stellar travel. But soon Shepard would be returning to the Citadel, and soon he would see Ash and Garrus and Jacob and Tali and Joker and the rest of his crew again. He would shake Anderson's hand, and he would salute Admiral Hackett, and then, he would be Honourably Discharged and ...

His mind rebelled against that. There was no Citadel, Anderson was dead and Hackett was based on the other side of the globe. He knew who he wanted to spend his post-Reaper days with, but the question was, would she want to spend them with him? But what he would do with his time, he had no idea. He was a solider, and that was all he was.

He hoped he could retire to some quiet planet, where it was warm and green and open. Where he could be John, instead of Shepard. A warmth spread through him as he thought of the domesticity of it all.

And so hope, again, flared.

**EDIT – 10th April**

**Hey guys, sorry about the delay in updating, but my laptop has broken and has been sent away to be fixed. This would be fine, except all of my stories are on it! I am trying to open the work on an older laptop, but said older laptop is being very uncooperative at the moment.**

**I have edited this document in certain places (mainly just changing Vreed to London) due to changes in the over all direction of this story. I do have chapter three nearly completed, however, unless my laptop is fixed very quickly or I can get a '97 Windows laptop to run Pages, I can only apologise for the delay.**

**As always, thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read this note, and the story, and like other authors and readers, my inbox is always open if anyone wants to discuss any aspect of the Mass Effect games, or my stories.**

**Much love**

**Dark**

**Edit - 4th Jan (Probably two years later than the last update, please don't kill me).**

**OH HEY! **

**Sorry about being terrible. I have absolutely no excuses. But there is a new chapter on the way. So please don't kill me? If you are reading this the only update is that I took out the bit about the Citadel still existing because after a re-read, I realised that they found him under the rubble of the Citadel, so it can't still exist … Yeah. That was a problem. **

**So like I said Im working on a new chapter for this. It's fairly slow as I need to work my way back into this story but hopefully it gives you a picture. **

**I'll try and get it out over the next few hours.**

**As always,**

**Much love**

**Dark**


	3. Chapter Two The Stranger in the Room

Chapter Two; The Stranger in the Room Part One

Night was a quiet time in room 2B of the Alliance Medical Centre. The only sound was the deep breath of Shepard's prone form, tangled in the sheets. His injuries had healed well, but the facial scaring remained – another reminder of a different hospital, a different doctor.

Shepard's new cybernetics had helped drastically and the doctors informed him that his life expectancy had been extended accordingly. His new heart regulator let him work longer, his bone implants allowed him to hit harder and his muscle weave let him run faster and lift more. He was, all in all, the most perfect specimen of a naturally conceived human: if it wasn't for all the bits of metal holding him together. The doctors had been surprised that he hadn't simply rusted from the inside out while trapped under the rubble of London. It was a miracle he had survived at all, and yet there was something keeping him alive; whether it was sheer will and determination, or something else, Shepard was glad of it.

Shepard moved under the duvet. Sliding his right hand under the pillows while his feet twitched in the open air.

A hover craft drifted lazily over head.

Suddenly Shepard was wide awake, his N7 Eagle grabbed from under his pillow and braced with both hands pointed directly at the slightly ajar door.

There was silence as Shepard strained to hear. It wasn't unusual for soldiers, both current and retired, to jump at the slightest noise. Even imagined threats were sometimes enough to send a battle-tested soldiers over the edge.

_A forest. A boy. Leaves – or was that ash falling from the sky? Laughter, and then no more laughter. A heartbeat and laughter. And then, again, silence._

A drip of water could be heard from down the corridor.

Shepard remained tense. When other men would have relaxed and assumed they had heard nothing, Shepard was sure he had heard something.

A drip of water could be heard down the corridor.

Seconds crawled by, time ticking into oblivion. Where most would have returned to sleep, sure that their startled state had carried across from a dream, Shepard remained alert, watching the darkness beyond his door.

A drip of water could be heard from down the corridor.

Wait, that wasn't right, there was no open water sources in this part of the complex. The shower block was in a different building and the kitchens were at the other end of the hall; his own bathroom was clear, and the tap securely turned off.

Still pointing his gun at the door, Shepard threw the blankets off his legs and padded quietly towards the door. Bracing his back against the wall, he took a few breaths before nudging the door open with the barrel of his gun. Sidestepping out his room, Shepard checked both directions before moving towards the dripping noise.

The corridor itself was dark, and the small torch light on the N7 eagle would only give away his position, so Shepard moved along by sense alone. The floor was cool beneath his bare feet, the sterile hospital air caused the hairs on his arms and chest to stand on end.

An air conditioning unit whirred above, while the dripping sound became more distinct. Shepard had moved about two hundred yards from his bedroom door when, suddenly, his right foot slipped from under him and he went down, landing heavily on his right knee. Bracing his right hand on the floor beside him, Shepard sucked in a breath through his teeth, a jarring pain racing through his knee cap and ankle. It was only after the throbbing had subsided slightly that Shepard noticed that his had, knee and leg were warm and sticky. Pushing himself up to rest on his injured knee, Shepard rubbed his thumb over the first two fingers of his right hand before bringing them up towards his face.

On sniff was enough to tell him what he had landed in. The cool metallic smell that seemed to travel down through his nose, accompanied by the distinct taste at the back of his mouth, as if he had eaten a particularly undercooked steak.

Blood. And by the sheen on the floor from a far off light, a lot of it. As Shepard looked around him, he saw the blackened outline of a medical gurney, a body hanging limply on the metal top.

But something wasn't right. This boy wasn't in the usual position: one are hung down over the side, and there was something off about the head. Shepard glanced about him deciding whether to risk the Eagle's torch. After about five minutes of deliberating, Shepard flicked on the light.

The first thing he saw was the pool of blood: a deep crimson that spread in a perfect, uniform oval from the edge of the gurney. It was thing, and starting to clot as Shepard watched. There must have been at least nineteen pints spilled out across the floor: too much for one person. Sure enough, as Shepard looked across the pool, there was a bloody drag mark and a series of drips moving off towards the light spilling from around the corner.

Finally, he shone the light on the gurney, and the black, staring eyes of Jonathan Freeth peered back across the darkness. His throat was sliced open and his head lolled at an awkward angle: too awkward for life. The arterial spray had travelled up the walls and was, even now, dripping from the ceiling.

The crisp grey suit was stained a darker grey, and the previously white shirt was mottled and creased. Shepard noticed that his pen torch was missing.

Shepard clambered to his feet, wiping the blood from his hand onto his shorts and that from his foot onto his opposite leg. It wasn't very pretty, but he didn't have time for that. Freeth was dead, but Dr. Josephs could still be alive.

Clicking the torch off, Shepard moved cautiously around the corner, following the drag marks. She struggled occasionally, but this was followed by more blood spatters, and eventually she just stopped.

Shepard followed the trail to a large set of double doors that no doubt led to another wing of the hospital: there was light spilling through the gaps, and muffled voices could be heard. Shepard glanced around: the corridor he was in was lined with doors, some looked like they had been kicked down, others hadn't been touched. Shepard wondered what the pattern was.

Suddenly, a door to Shepard's right opened and a man in black S.W.A.T uniform stepped out. There was a moment of calm, of complete stillness as both parties gauged the reaction of the other until, without thinking, Shepard smashed the man across the throat and he crumpled to the floor, grasping at his windpipe and gasping for air. Shepard grabbed him around the neck, the bend in his elbow pressing against the unknown assailants Adams apple. Shepard used his other arm to constrict the attackers throat, cutting off oxygen as the man struggled for life. Shepard braced himself against a wall and let the man kick, counting off the minutes it took to kill someone.

Eventually the man started to fade and his struggles became less. Six minutes went by and Shepard finally let him go.

Lowering him to the floor slowly, Shepard took stock of his opponent. He was well armed and armoured, both a shotgun and an automatic rifle strapped to his back, and a pistol strapped to his left leg. His armour was of good quality but all the names and serial numbers had been removed: even the supply chip in the collar had been destroyed.

Everything about this man screamed hired mercenary, but there were no markings, no gang ink. He was a nobody in an expensive suit.

A scream broke through the silence. A thud which cut the scream short and then silence again.

Shepard bolted to the door, standing with his back against the wooden frame, gun raised as if in prayer. Two shadowed figures walked past the open door, luckily too involved with their own conversation to notice their prone comrade in the room.

"Do you think she knows?" asked a gruff voice. It was unmistakably American, but aside from that, it was generic enough to be indistinguishable from a plethora of districts.

"No-idea, Jay." This voice was also American, however this was clearly a New York accent - a semi-local then, Shepard thought, unlikely to be a coincidence. Given the relative closeness to New York, the Alliance Medical Centre would be a prime target for gangs trying to steal medical supplies and then sell them on at exorbitant prices.

The footsteps echoed down the hall and as they became fainter, Shepard risked a quick glance into the corridor.

Swearing under his breath, Shepard surveyed the room. A vending machine and a coffee filter on a set of cupboards were pressed neatly against one corner wall, while the centre of the room stretched an over-long table. A small waste paper bin occupied the corner opposite the coffee machine, and sprawled on the floor in front of the open door law the unknown, unnamed man. Swearing again, Shepard heaved the body out of view and propped him up against the bin. Silently padding back, Shepard pushed the door closed with a small click. In the silence, it had sounded like a thunder clap.

Undressing a dead man is one of the hardest things anyone has to do. Not only due to the emotional stress, but the physical exertion of lifting a dead body and positioning it so that you can remove items of clothing. Shepard had made it half way before sweat broke out on his forehead. Panting, he pulled the black jumper off the assailant and slipped it on over his own bare chest. With the cargo pants already on, Shepard began pulling the plate armour over his head. It was similar in style to a Kevlar vest of the late twentieth century, but lighter and more supple. It was especially designed to allow for maximum weight capacity whilst also affording the most comprehensive array of protection.

Pulling the hood up, Shepard was able to cover his head, face and neck in a protective webbing that masked his features. As he turned his head, checking for any detriment to sight or movement, he again caught sight of the unknown assailant. He was completely ordinary in death: a well built, dark haired man that, had he been wearing a different uniform, could have just walked out of Alliance basic training. He looked young for a marine, but not for a merc: his smooth cheeks attesting to his youth.

Shepard sighed. Killing a man with your bare hands was different to shooting them. You didn't have the safety of distance, and you could never truly shake the experience.

_A small boy plays with a toy Alliance fighter. Running, he laughs as the toy bobs and weaves in the air. Suddenly, a deafening noise: the fighter falls to the floor. He runs – he always runs. _

Shaking his head, Shepard readied himself. Pressing his ear against the door, he listened carefully. The number of intruders was unknown, as was their motive and affiliation. He had no intel, and no information. The enemy was truly holding all of the cards.

With the expected thunder-clap click, Shepard prised open the door, millimetres at a time. The corridor was still dark and the wedge of light that spilled out from the room cast a ghostly shaft of light. There was absolute silence, the kind that presses on eardrums and weighs on shoulders.

Stepping quickly out of the room, Shepard pushed the door closed behind him. A third click deafening in the noise-less air.

Standing perfectly still in the darkness, Shepard let his eyes adjust to the darkness. The two men, Jay and the one with the American accent, had moved down the hall towards the body of Dr Freeth, but a sliver of light still spilled from between the double doors to Shepard's right.

Shepard crouched and moved towards the doors, his gun raised to the corridor behind him. As he felt the door press against his back, Shepard stopped and shifted his focus from the corridor to the room beyond the door.

Pushing the door open slightly he scoped out the room.

It was circular with a slightly sloped floor that tipped towards a drain in the centre of the room. Pushed against the walls were metal tables with scalpels, surgical saws, clamps, scissors, swabs and a whole host of other sterile objects. Above each table was a grate, presumably that led off to an extractor unit, and a series of dials, pipes, face-masks and green and blue gas-tanks.

The blood trail that had lead him to this room stopped just short of a dentists style chair which sat just above the drain. The back of the chair was too him as Shepard hugged the wall, keeping his attention both on the chair, and the second set of double doors directly opposite those he had entered through.

Circling around, Shepard could finally see the body strapped to the chair. What he did not expect was to see the beaten and bruised body of an Asari. The blue skinned alien was drifting in and out of consciousness, her head lolling side to side as her body tried to balance the need for repair with the fear of being left in the dark.

She wasn't fully aware of Shepard's presence, and so Shepard was allowed to watch her briefly. Nerala, he thought her name was. She was a member of the senior medial team here at the hospital.

Despite her bloodied face and brutal injuries, most of the blood pooled on the floor was red: human. Trying to keep focus on three things at once, Shepard watched both sets of doors and moved slowly towards the Asari.

Relinquishing his pistol to a one-handed grip, Shepard place a hand on her shoulder and shook it gently. Nerala's eyelids fluttered and her pupils seemed to drift in and out of focus.

Seeing that she was indeed awake, Shepard whispered quietly into her ear.

"My name is John Shepard, and I need you to wake up." Repeating this seemed to give the alien something to focus on because as he said it for a third time, she blinked rapidly and seemed to return to full awareness.

Nerala struggled with the bonds holding her down for a few moments before freeing herself and pressing her right palm against her temple.

"I feel like I've been hit with a hammer" she mumbled, the words coming out slurred and distant.

"That's probably not far off." Shepard replied before asking "I know it's tough, but I need you to tell me how many there are."

Nerala hesitated before saying "Five, I think? There could be six. I think I'm going to be sick."

Shepard nodded as the Asari bent over the chair and threw-up. Taking some deep shuddering breaths and wiping her mouth, she returned to face Shepard.

"What's the plan?" She asked weakly.

"Find Josephs and get the hell outta here." Shepard replied, slipping back into his more familial accent.

"What about Freeth?" the Asari asked.

"Dead" Shepard replied without emotion. He had seen enough dead people to numb himself to the loss of a friend, but Nerala evidently hadn't, judging by her gasp. Moving to more practical matters Shepard asked "Can you walk? We need to get out of here asap."

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><p>Authors Note;<p>

I decided to post this up as a part-finished chapter because it seems to have been ages since I updated. I will get this finished asap, but it was running at 6 pages right now. Hope you enjoy :)


	4. Chapter Two  Part Two

**Hey all,**

**I'm not 100% happy with this chapter, I needed to get it out as I feared writers block was about to set in, so any constructive criticism would be much appreciated :)**

**The next chapter will involve more action and I will have that up soon hopefully :)**

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><p><span>Chapter Two; The Stranger in the Room (Part Two)<span>

As quickly and as quietly as he could, Shepard helped Nerala to her feet before steering her towards the second door.

As she caught her breath and regular emotions returned, Nerala inquired

'Why are they here? What do they want? It's not like we have anything of great value. This is just a medical centre ...'

'Shuush' Shepard interrupted, quietening her with a look before returning his attention to the second set of double doors. Nudging them open with his shoulder, Shepard observed the corridor in front of him. Almost an exact replica of the other corridors, this one seemed to travel through the heart of the centre. It headed straight for three hundred yards before hitting a t-style junction. The plaque on the wall told him that turning right would take him to the children's, gynaecology and cardiac wards, as well as the second of three dinning halls and the accident and emergency walk-in centre: to the left were various general practitioners offices, another dinning area, the archives, the main reception and then, finally, the main exit.

As the pair reached the junction, Nerala immediately went to turn left, towards the easiest exit, but Shepard pulled her back.

'Wha ..?' She began to ask, before Shepard pointed to the red sign with big white lettering proclaiming 'ACCIDENT AND EMERGENCY'. 'You need access codes, and a key card, to get through there.'

'And you don't have those?' Shepard asked.

'No. The ... those men took my key card from me.' Shepard gently placed a supportive hand on her shoulder. 'But if we can find Dr. Josephs, she should have hers.'

'Where would she be?' Shepard was getting annoyed at his own lack of information, I didn't see her office on my way through.'

'You wouldn't, her office is on the second floor, near to the GP surgeries.'

'If she's not in there, then maybe we could find another in one of the offices. Lets go.'

Keeping low and close to the wall, Shepard led the way down the corridor to the left. The plastic floor reverberated his footsteps making them sound too loud in the empty hospital. Even the flickering light seemed to warn him he was making too much noise.

Suddenly, Shepard threw his arm up and stopped beside a locked office door. A similar set of reverberations were making their way towards them from a corridor on their right. Raising his gun, Shepard motioned for Nerala to get low and stay out of the way.

As second stretched into minutes, Shepard breathed and waited, lining up the shot for where he expected his enemy's head to appear.

A clock ticked. Some water dripped.

Almost suddenly a man's fully armoured face appeared just below Shepard's proposed shot. Readjusting and pulling the trigger Shepard terminated the mercenary's progression without fuss. Breaking into a crouching run, Shepard darted towards the fallen man, and patted him down, searching for more information on their illusive attackers.

Pulling the assault riffle and shotgun from the body, Shepard slung the riffle over his shoulder before returning his pistol to his leg holster. Taking up the shotgun in his right hand, he continued to search the man with his left.

Suddenly, the crackle of a radio blared into life.

'Echo Seven, Echo Seven this is Charlie Four, do you copy? Over.'

Shepard stared at the radio, cursing this new complication. As the radio repeated the same message, Shepard reached over, picked up it up and pressed the respond button.

'Charlie Four, this is Echo Seven. I read you. Go ahead. Over.'

There was silence and Shepard thought for a flash that his voice must have given him away.

'Finally' replied the radio, 'We've been trying to reach you for the last ten minutes.'

'Radio's must be playing up.' Shepard replied, wincing at the over-simplistic reply.

'Yeah. Anyway, we need you to check level two. Reports are that Dr. Josephs has disappeared on us. You're in the area; go check out her office.'

'Roger that.'

'And for God's sake, answer your radio next time. Charlie Four over and out.'

Shepard breathed a quick sigh of relief: it appeared his deception had worked, and not only that, but it looked as if Dr. Josephs had managed to escape and was hiding somewhere in the facility.

Hefting the shotgun, Shepard pulled the dead mercs pistol from its holster and passed it to Nerala, grip first. She looked terrified at the prospect.

'It's very simple.' Shepard said, 'Point that end at the thing you want to shoot,' he motioned to the barrel of the gun, 'and then pull the trigger. When you run out of ammo, stay low and stay quiet. Got it?' She nodded hesitantly. 'You can fire up to nine rounds with that model, it's not an automatic so you have to pull the trigger every time you want to shoot. Use two hands on the grip, or the recoil will break your wrist.'

With that, Shepard stood and slow-jogged towards the stairs, Nerala close on his heels. Using the barrel of his shotgun to lead the way, Shepard progressed up to the second level, making his way towards the GP offices and, hopefully, an alive Rachel Josephs.

Arriving on the correct floor, Shepard kneeled at the top of the stairs, one leg flat against the floor, the other raised to offer support. He stayed that way for a long time, and just as Nerala was about to interrupt his silent vigil, she heard the creak of a door on hinges. Raising her own gun, Nerala saw a man in a white lab coat drag himself out of one of the rooms to their left. He wore scrubs under his coat and a stethoscope swung haphazardly around his neck. His ID badge was clipped to his coat pocket and was clipped at an odd angle.

Nerala stepped forward but halted at a look from Shepard. Even from this distance, they could hear the doctor cursing.

'Shit. Shit. Shit.' He exclaimed, gripping his right leg with both hands. As he stumbled forward, both Shepard and Nerala could see the majority of his trouser leg was stained a dark black, a sharp contrast to the emerald of his scrubs. He tried to brace his weight on it, but it shook violently and the yelp of pain reverberated down the corridor. Momentarily forgetting his pain, the unnamed doctor glanced around hims, eyes hurriedly looking for any sign that anyone had heard the exclamation of pain.

Shepard watched from the dark shadows at the top of the stairs, assessing the man before him. A list of scenarios flashed through his well-trained mind: he could be a decoy, or plant; he might be faking his injury to trick someone into aiding him, or he could be a civilian in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Suddenly there was a click of a lock, followed swiftly by another creaking of hinges. From an office three doors down, out stepped Dr Rachel Josephs. Her swift movements clearly demonstrated her uninjured state as she rushed to the aid of her colleague.

'Dr Josephs!' Nerala called out, relief evident in her voice.

What Shepard did not expect, was for Dr Josephs to spin around towards the noise, a pistol gripped firmly in her left hand. Copying her, Shepard raised his shotgun and pointed it towards the medial pair.

'Shepard?' Dr Josephs surprise was clearly layered through her voice. 'I thought they hit your wing first?'

'They did.' Replied Shepard nonchalantly. 'Freeth is dead.'

Dr. Josephs hand right hand moved to her mouth but she did not lower her weapon.

The silence stretched as neither party spoke. The unnamed doctor let out the occasional whimper of pain and Nerala moved her head backwards and forwards between Shepard and Dr. Josephs.

Without further indication, Dr. Josephs lowered her gun and replaced it in the holster strapped to her ribs. She then moved towards the injured man in the lab coat and proceeded to try and stop the bleeding.

Kneeling beside his injured leg, Dr. Josephs said calmly 'James, we need to get this sutured and in order to do that, you are going to need to stand still. Nerala,' the asari moved towards the two medics, 'help me carry him to my office. I can stop the bleeding there, and give him something for the pain.' Josephs then turned her attention to Shepard, 'I assume you are here to help then? Cover us as we get him to the office: I don't think anyone knows I'm here, but a little extra fire-power never hurts.'

Without waiting for an affirmative, Josephs and Nerala draped the injured medics arms around their shoulders, and hauled him down the corridor. Shaking his head slightly, Shepard followed, shotgun panning left and right down the corridor.

Upon arriving in Josephs office Shepard watched as the doctor and her impromptu assistant worked to stem the bleeding from the injured leg. As they worked, stitching and applying medi-gel, Shepard kept his attention on the corridor outside. The radio was still quiet, and the fact that they had run into no further patrols made Shepard uneasy. It was too quiet, too empty - even for an eighty per-cent empty hospital.

Without waiting for the doctors to finish their work, Shepard stepped back into the corridor and switched the radio back on.

'Charlie Four, Charlie Four this is Echo Seven. Do you read me? Over.' There was a weighted silence, 'Charlie Four, this is Echo Seven. Do you copy?' Again, no response. 'Anyone on this frequency, this is Echo Seven, is anyone reading this?'

Dr. Josephs appeared at the doorway to her office with a questioning look.

'What are you doing?' She hissed, 'Are you trying to give away our location.'

'They think I'm a team member named Echo Seven.' Shepard explained, 'They sent me, well him, to search your office. I was going to tell them it's all clear but no one is responding.'

Josephs flicked her fiery hair behind her ear in what Shepard assumed was a characteristic movement.

'That ... that is not good.' She replied.

Shepard nodded. Not being able to set a dummy trail up meant that the four would need to be extremely careful when they moved to the exit.

Dr. Josephs was the first to break the silence.

'We should head to an exit -'

'We were going to use the one through A&E.' Shepard interrupted.

'Agreed.' Said Josephs. 'I have combat experience, but those two,' she gestured towards Nerala and the injured medic, 'do not. And I suppose it makes sense for you to call me Rachel from now on.'

Shepard nodded, intrigued, before asking

'Where have you seen action? I don't recognise you name, apart from through a medical friend.'

'I was a combat medic in the DMZ during the Reaper War, and I saw first line defence on Mars during the Cerberus attack.'

'I didn't think anyone got off Mars.'

'A few of us made an evac-shuttle before they vented the hall.' Shepard nodded. He had seen the aftermath of the attack.

'In that case, I'll take point' Shepard directed, 'If you can guard the back?'

'I can do that. But I'm low on clips.'

Shepard snorted before replying 'Join the club. You can take the spares off Nerala, she won't need them.'

Rachel nodded and returned to her office. Shepard heard the modulations and tones in her voice as she explained where they were headed, and shortly after the four of them congregated in the corridor outside Rachel's office.

Making their way silently back towards the stairs, Shepard in the lead, the group breathed in the oppressive silence. The smell of disinfectant and blood was heavy in the air, and the squeaky plastic floors did nothing to hide their footsteps.

Reaching the large double doors before the staff entrance to accident and emergency, Shepard motioned for Rachel to join him at the front of their troupe.

'You have your access card?'

She nodded silently in reply and moved to the card panel on the wall. Swiping a white plastic card with a practiced motion, she then proceeded to press seven of the worn number pads and the doors whooshed open with a subdued hiss.

The sight that greeted them was not expected.

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><p><strong>Edit - As some of you pointed out, I updated the wrong document. My bad! <strong>


	5. Chapter Three Bodies in the Escape Route

Because This Isn't Goodbye - Chapter Three

The Bodies in the Escape Route

There must have been twenty of them, at least, piled in corners or against air tanks or slumped over gurneys. All wore the same black mercenary outfit that Shepard had seen on the other groups within the hospital: identical to the set of armour he was now wearing.

The group of four moved into the destruction, observing for any signs of life from the fallen mercs. Each had a bullet wound in a vital location: some had several.

This wasn't a fire-fight, this was a massacre.

Furthering this sober thought, Shepard observed four bodies that lay too symmetrically to have been random kills. Walking over to them, Shepard saw that each had a bullet wound to the back of the skull. They had been murdered, execution style, in front of their comrades, possibly to create fear or force co-operation. Ultimately, the reason mattered little.

Shepard bent and looked into one of the faces. He was a youngish man, probably no more than twenty-five. If he had been in blues he would have made an imposing Alliance marine, but here, lying on this cold hospital floor, his grey eyes offered no stern reprimand or salute: his ashen skin reflecting nothing but the harsh electric lights above.

Shepard knelt and bowed his head, as if in prayer, before reaching forward and closing the unknown boy's eyes.

A radio crackled into life: Shepard did not flinch, though the same could not be said of Rachel Josephs who spun around from her position near the exit, gun aimed back into the room.

"They will all be dead" Shepard said, over his shoulder. "I've seen this kind of thing before." He paused, and drew in a deep breath before standing and continuing, "Groups like this," he waved his hand around the room, "they are simply fighting until a bigger group comes and wipes them out. We won't find any survivors."

Josephs still had not lowered her gun and when the crackle of the radio flared again, tension ran through her body, stopping just short of her trigger finger.

Searching through the bodies, Shepard found the radio. It was strapped to the shoulder of a man with three stripes on his arm, denoting loyal, quality or long years service. Letting his rifle drop onto the support straps, Shepard fiddled with the receiver for a couple of moments before

'...Anyone? There are ... -eem to be ... in the North corridor. I'm ... Oh God, NO! ... -nd me ... Shit they're ... they've...' The interference could not drown out the barrage of rifle fire and the screams of the dying man.

"No survivors, huh?" Asked Josephs.

"There aren't anymore." Shepard replied, still looking away from the exit. He had recognised the accent: American, but generic enough to indistinguishable from a plethora of districts. Shepard though his name was Jay.

"We should move." Rachel continued, ignoring Shepard's previous response and subsequent silence. Shepard nodded to this, and tucked the radio into the band of his pants.

"Search the bodies" Shepard stated, "Take any clips, grenades or light weapons you can find. You should probably find some body armour," he nodded to Nerala and Josephs, "And we should see if we can find you some more medi-gel" Shepard spoke this last line to the limping doctor.

After a brief search of the bodies, that gave their team three frag grenades, a flash bang, a M-920 Cain Heavy and several thermal clips.

'Right,' Shepard stated, after the unpleasant task of removing all useful items from the dead men, 'We should get going. Before whoever did this decides that they missed four prime targets.'

Pushing his unit forward, Shepard jogged quickly round the corner, closely followed by Nerala, with Rachel supporting the injured doctor. Setting a swift pace, Shepard jogged around the corner, keeping close to the corridor's sloping, curved wall.

Suddenly, a man in white armoured uniform appeared around the corner. Without waiting for a reaction, Shepard shot a blast of his shotgun from his hip: the small pellets of shot bursting through shield, armour and flash. Without breaking his stride, Shepard continued, stepping over the body as if it were nothing./

Nerala was not so nonchalant.

"You shot him. You just shot him" the asari protested, giving the body a wide birth. But Shepard had no time to respond.

Rounding the corner, Shepard ran into a seeming firing squad of white uniformed men. There was a tense pause as both parties registered the shock of the other before all hell broke loose.

As the white lights of muzzle flashes began, Shepard dived sideways, crouching behind a conveniently placed desk in the reception area. Switching from his shotgun to the newly acquired assault rifle, Shepard took a deep breath and prepared to return fire.

Bullets ricocheted of the reenforced glass panelling of the desk, and rebounds smashed one, two, then three of the lights overhead. Sparks continued to flare as an electrical transformer box exploded just to Shepard's right.

As he stood, the world seemed to slow. He could predict where bullets would hit as adrenalin rushed through his system and his own bullets seemed to be more accurate, more deadly. Despite this, even his quickened reactions did not register a civilian stumbling blindly across the barrage.

As the lights spluttered out, and the mussel flashes became the only source of intermittent light, the scene continued to play out like a strobe lit club or a bad horror movie. Blood spattered the walls, and arms flailed as a body in the middle of the fray dropped to the floor with the speed only a dead weight could produce.

Shepard didn't even have time to pull his finger away from the trigger before Nerala took a bullet to the shoulder, sending her staggering towards the white-suited men.

They either didn't notice or didn't care about the non-combatant and continued firing, leaving Nerala with wounds in her arms, legs and torso. She didn't feel the solidness of the ground as she hit it.

A rage engulfed Shepard. She had survived seeing her friend, Dr. Freeth, killed and then she survived torture, only to be senselessly cut down in a firefight. Running out of the small cover the desk offered, Shepard sprinted towards the unknown assailants, shooting as he ran. And then he was amongst them, all quick shots and flying punches. A head butt to one, a kidney punch to another: a rifle butt to the jaw, a muzzle to the groin. It was brutal, efficient. Shepard only stopped when he had the last man pinned to a wall.

It was in this position that Rachel found them - Shepard standing, surrounded by bodies, an unknown man pressed against the wall. As she approached, Shepard drew his pistol and pressed the barrel into the soft flesh under the mans chin. Looking him in the eyes, Shepard said

"That asari? The one you and your men just shot? She was a friend of mine." And without looking away, Shepard pulled the trigger.

Rachel almost dropped the injured medic in shock. Nothing in Shepard's profile had hinted at this level of cold, calculated violence.

"And where the fuck were you?" Shepard's harsh voice cut though her thoughts, nothing like the calm, authoritative voice of before. There was an bestial anger in him now, something dark and uncontrollable. A fierceness that was tapped to the basic instinct: rage.

Without waiting for a reply, Shepard wiped his blood-spattered face and stalked off around the corner into the parking lot. Struggling to keep up with her injured companion, Rachel followed.

She caught up with Shepard just outside the Accident and Emergency entrance, where the ambulances would normally pull up and deposit their cargo to either the pre-prepared stretcher, the on-call doctor or the morgue. As Rachel watched, Shepard bent down and seemed to be examining something on the floor.

Again the world seemed to slow. Each millimetre rotation turned with such determination. Colours became more vibrant; yellow parking stripes stood out in contrast to the black of the tarmac, their lines blurring in the orange, pink hues of the morning sun.

Rachel couldn't see what it was that Shepard was looking at, but as soon as he heard her footsteps drawing nearer, his head whipped around to look at her.

Before he could so much as utter a breath a shot rang out from across the park-way.

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><p>Hey guys, sorry about the delay but this Chapter went though four or five re-writes. Apologies again for it's length, it's on the short side I know, but I really wanted to end it there ('Cause Im a sucker for cliffs) From here, things progress forward, and hopefully towards somethings you might not expect. I also have an idea that I want opinions on, but I don't want to spoiler it for people who don't want to know - if you want your opinion on said matter, just PM me and ill give you details :)<p>

As always, unbetaed so R&R would be a great help, and hopefully the next chapter will be up soonish. No idea when: it seems my life just wants to get in the way.

Much love :)


	6. Chapter Four The Shooting at Sunrise

Because This Isn't Goodbye - Chapter Four

The Shooting at Sunrise.

Acctual sunrise is a beautiful thing if you care watch it. It is not red and pink and orange as the greatest writers and poets would have you believe; there is nothing inherently romantic about it. Instead there is a quiet peace that pervades the air, a stillness before the cacophony of morning begins. The colours described are as inaccurate as the metaphor with reds, oranges and pinks being in short supply.

It starts as a green flash across the horizon: Not a bright green, or even a dull green, it is more the colour of oxidised copper when in shadow. Then, slowly, as the world inevitably revolves more shades appear; there is the purple of blackberry juice, the amber of a well aged single malt. Then follow hues of indigo, violet, ocher, fawn, sapphire, mint, grey, black, gold and finally, there is orange. The transition is as subtle as rain falling onto wet grass but there is a brightening of the world, an intake of breath, before the sun announces its arrival with blinding light and deafening noise.

It is there, where the first glint of morning passes over the horizon; where the sun kisses the sky for the first time each day, that Shepard knelt. In that perfect, quiet zone, watching as shadows lengthened and daylight spread across the world.

The shot that rang out was intrusively loud. A single sharp crack followed by a distortion as the shell ripped through skin and muscle, before lodging into bone and marrow. It sent the body propelling backwards before causing it to crash to the floor.

Rachel didn't have time to think: didn't have time to react. She threw the now very dead medic to the floor and dove behind a thankfully robust bench. She didn't see Shepard turning before the shot, didn't hear his too late warning.

Blood and bone matter covered the left side of Rachel's face, and she tried to wipe it off with her right hand but only succeeded in smearing more blood and gore across her face. Her back pressed into the bench, she checked her magazine. Three clips left, not enough to take on an army of mercs. She cursed.

"Shepard!" Rachel risked a quick glance over towards Shepard's location, "Shepard! God dammit, where are you?"

A high velocity round thudded into the back of the bench sending splinters and debris flying into the air. Rachel flinched, fingers fumbling on the magazine. She could hear footsteps crunching towards her across the gravel; it was now or never.

Suddenly a secondary shot rang out, there was an echo and a thud as a body hit the floor.

And then all hell broke loose.

Bullets were flying everywhere, smacking into the back of the bench, the floor, the hospital behind her. It sounded like four or five sub machine-guns, all coming from the north-west corner of the medical supply building.

"Shepherd!" Rachel shouted again, and then, as if summoned by his name, there was a skid and a thud as Shepherd careened into the bench beside her. "And where the hell have you been! Just leaving me here to take on an army all by myself?"

"I take it you missed me then?" Shepherd responded with a cheeky grin, dirt and something else not so pleasant smeared across his left cheek.

Rachel scowled, unused to Shepard's unorthodox way of working. "I think there's a bunch of them up on the corner of the medical supply building, four or five by my count but there could be more."

Shepard's quick peek over the top of the bench was rewarded by a barrage of bullets that left bright red tracer trails in the air.

"Can you make it to that cover over there?" Shepard nodded with his head towards a slightly angled, shot out sky car that was resting about five meters to their right. Rachel risked a quick glance around the side of the bench, judging the distance.

"Yeah, I think I can do that." And then, without further warning she launched herself into midair, arms and gun outstretched, landing with a forward roll just behind the front passenger door of the broken sky car.

Shepard nodded, clearly impressed. Her speed and agility hadn't even given the mercs time to react. However, as Shepard raised his head above his barricade a hail of bullets peppered the bench, the car and the surrounding tarmac.

Shepard swore, this was going to be harder than he had thought. Before he could amend his plan, there was a deep blue glow originating from his left. Without any help from Shepard, Rachel proceded to decimate the medical supply building. The complete west side of the building was reduced to rubble and a cloud of white dust rose in the cool early morning air. Shepard again risked a glance above his improvised cover, before nodding without conscious thought. Deciding to risk keeping his head above cover, Shepard watched the partly collapsed building and waited to see if there was any flash of gunfire. When there was no ring of a bullet hurtling towards them, Shepard decided it was safe to stand up.

He wiped his face, dusted down his uniform, and walked over to the unnamed medics body. Kneeling as if in prayer Shepard added the John Doe to the long list of those he had failed. Bowing his head, he closed the medics eyes and stood.

Rachel was standing behind him, arms folded and pistol returned to holster strapped to her ribs. She had one eyebrow raised and was watching him intently. If she hadn't had flaming red hair, Shepard could have convinced himself he was looking at a very different doctor.

"I didn't know you religious; there was nothing in your file." Rachel stated.

"I'm not" Shepard responded, "but everyone deserves to be mourned, even if we don't know their names. I didn't know you were a biotic, but then, I haven't seen your file."

The statement was meant in jest, but Shepard could see that Rachel understood the well disguised barb.

Rachel nodded before pointing north-west with her chin. "The nearest inhabited place is about 2 days walk that way." Shepard looked at her questioningly, "Despite what you may or may not have heard Shepard, the Earth is in no way repaired. Most of humanity, as well as any Asari, Turians, Salarians or Krogan that were either in the battle, or were stationed on Earth, have been moved to refugee camps. They are understaffed, malnourished and overcrowded." This last sentence was said with such dispassion that Shepard began to see how Dr Rachel Josephs had gained a reputation for clean, efficient medical skill. "However," she continued, "we may be able to find a sky car or transport to a more major city. Where is it you intend to go?"

Shepard thought for a moment. He never pondered his life after the war; that was all there had ever been, all that ever was. Every waking, and most sleeping, thoughts were taken up with strategy, battle simulation and troop morale or numbers.

"Away..." The word escaped him as a whisper, so quiet that Shepard couldn't be sure he had even said it. He let the wind play with the letters, spinning them through her fingers with gentle tendrils of air, like a magician playing with a coin. He continued, his words gaining strength as he found momentum. "Away from here. Away from the Alliance, from war. Away from seeing my friends die and knowing I could have stopped it; do you know what it's like?" He was pacing now, scuffing up dust as his boots crunched into the dirt, "Having to make a choice, knowing that whatever you do, someone you care about will die. First Kadien, then Mordin?" His voice strained, almost, but not quiet breaking, "I shot Mordin in the back, for God's sake: just to stop him curing the genophage. And then, I had to shoot Wrex just to save my own skin. I'm sick of it." He looked at her then, suddenly aware of what he had just said: suddenly aware of who she was.

"Serila, the nurse who helped you through your physio, said you'd had doubts."

Shepard looked away and down, contemplating the patterns in the dirt. A self mocking smile found its way onto his face, and Rachel noticed that it looked well-used if out of place.

"What else has she told you?" Shepard asked, still not meeting her eyes.

Rachel shrugged before answering. "That you have nightmares."

"Every soldier has nightmares." Shepard responded flatly, still keeping his eyes down cast.

"Only one who is ashamed of what he has done."

Shepard looked at her then, his face as hard and cold as iced steel, his eyes boring into hers.

"You have no idea what I've done." Each word was spat out across the space between then, and Rachel was shocked by the venom in them. There was nothing in his file that hinted at anything that would warrant the guilt and self-loathing that Shepard now displayed.

Silence echoed between them, stretching to the stars and back.

Rachel leant backwards on one leg, resting her weight onto her right hip. The move was so characteristic that Shepard had to blink several times. She raised her eyebrow, a half-smile curling the corners of her mouth.

"We have to get moving." She stated, and began walking off towards the camp. Shepard, still wrapped up in his own guild and misgivings, followed a few paces behind her.

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><p>AN - Again, sorry about the delay. But this one took ages to write: I blame four jobs and a puppy. But yeah, enjoy. :)<p> 


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